l of Ayer's guns are in play, hurling rifled shot and shells, which
scream like an unseen demon as they fly over the cornfield, over the
meadow lands, to the woods and fields beyond the stream.

General Hunter and General Heintzelman, with their divisions, have left
the turnpike two miles from Centreville, at Cub Run bridge, a rickety,
wooden structure, which creaks and trembles as the heavy cannon rumble
over. They march into the northwest, along a narrow road,--a round-about
way to Sudley Springs. It is a long march. They started at two o'clock,
and have had no breakfast. They waited three hours at Cub Run, while
General Tyler's division was crossing, and they are therefore three
hours behind the appointed time. General McDowell calculated and
intended to have them at Sudley Springs by six o'clock, but now it is
nine. They stop a half-hour at the river-crossing to fill their canteens
from the gurgling stream.

Looking south from the little stone church, you see clouds of dust
floating over the forest-trees. The Rebels have discovered the movement,
and are marching in hot haste to resist the impending attack. General
Evans has left a portion of his command at Stone Bridge, and is
hastening with the remainder to the second ridge of land north of the
turnpike. He plants his artillery on the hill, and secretes his infantry
in a thicket of pines. General Bee is on the march, so is General Bartow
and General Jackson, all upon the double-quick. Rebel officers ride
furiously, and shout their orders. The artillerymen lash their horses to
a run. The infantry are also upon the run, sweating and panting in the
hot sunshine. The noise and confusion increase. The booming deepens
along the valley, for still farther down, by Blackburn's Ford, Hunt's
battery is pouring its fire upon Longstreet's, Jones's, and Ewell's men.

The Union troops at Sudley Springs move across the stream. General
Burnside's brigade is in advance. The Second Rhode Island infantry is
thrown out, deployed as skirmishers. The men are five paces apart. They
move slowly, cautiously, and nervously through the fields and thickets.

Suddenly, from bushes, trees, and fences there is a rattle of musketry.
General Evans's skirmishers are firing. There are jets of flame and
smoke, and a strange humming in the air. There is another rattle, a
roll, a volley. The cannon join. The first great battle has begun.
General Hunter hastens to the spot, and is wounded almost at the